


The Sosin Chronicles: The Story of Two Dorks in the Arctic

by IronTeeth



Category: Original Work, Sosin Tribe, Tokotas
Genre: JUST, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, everything really, tags will be added as this goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronTeeth/pseuds/IronTeeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you find what you're not looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Arved and Haakon are from [Sosin](http://sosintribe.deviantart.com/), a tribe of [tokota](http://tokotas.deviantart.com/) (giant beardog) handlers living in an old castle in north-eastern Siberia.

"Are you Arved Kassin?"

Arved finished his transaction before even acknowledging that he had been hailed, slipping his purchase into his bag and shaking the merchant's hand. Then he turned-

And recoiled with a curse. The man - far too tall, and vague flash of dark, dark eyes - reared back in surprise as if he hadn't expected his quarry to have issue with him standing about _half a foot from his goddamn face_. Arved continued where he had left off with the swearing, calling into question the stranger's parentage and upbringing as well as his mental faculties and a few other choice topics. The man stood there, watching him curiously - his eyes were green and focused, why had he thought they were dark? - and not making a move from where he stood in what looked to be one of those fancy thin-but-thermal jumpers, walking trousers and a ragged fur cloak.

A cloak. Who the hell wore a cloak? Some posturing western European, to judge by the indecently long red hair he sported.

"Are you Arved Kassin?" the man repeated when Arved took a breath.

Arved sighed, and took up his best impression of well-earned haughtiness. It didn't usually fool anyone. "Who wants to know?"

"My name is Haakon Skovgaard," said the man, putting out a hand. "I would like to join your tribe."

"Haakon, huh, wasn't that the name of some famous guy?" Arved raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. _Unimaginative_.

But the man nodded. "Quite a few of Norway's kings."

Oh. "Well. Yeah, of course. But you're - obviously, I mean - not-?"

"Kronprins Haakon? No."

Arved sniffed, then gestured for Haakon to follow as he walked back along the market. "So do you have a tokota?"

Haakon grimaced apologetically. Arved suddenly found himself relaxing slightly, realising that it was one of the most _normal_ expressions he'd seen from the stranger yet. "I don't," said Haakon. "They said that you might be able to lend me one?"

Arved nodded, wrinkling his nose as he thought. "Ivarr, probably," he decided. "And why do you want to join?"

"I need to find something," said Haakon.

_Rehearsed_ , thought Arved. The man hadn't blinked. "Mmm-hmm. Like yourself or some crap like that?"

"Something like that."

"Well you can do that in your spare time; you'd have the responsibility as a tribe member to be a net positive asset." Arved pointed a finger at the tall Scandinavian's chest. "So that means fishing, hunting, mapping - or knitting or grooming or whatever you like. We're not here to support you while you go flouncing off into the tundra; we're only in civilisation these two weeks a year."

The first ghost of a smile crossed the stranger's face. "I won't be a burden," he said. "I will contribute. And - it'll be good to have company."

"Right, great, whatever. But before all that - do you have gear? Supplies? Clothes?" Arved gestured disparagingly at what currently passed for a jumper.

Haakon shook his head lightly. "I'll be fine in these."

"You bet your beard you'll be fine - once you've bought some furs," Arved growled, steering Haakon towards a stall. "Nobody's freezing to death on my watch."

It didn't take too much of Arved's patented belligerence to persuade the Scandinavian to actually clothe himself properly, and it was only once he was bundled up and looking like a fat caribou with red hair that Arved hid a smile of amusement and realised that he'd been slightly tense until now in the man's presence. Strangers didn't usually bother him terribly; sure, there were the usuals at the markets year after year, but when you only spent fourteen days of 365 actually in a populated area, you got used to new faces. Not to mention the tribe itself: it had a core stable presence, but otherwise people trickled in, people trickled out. He treated everyone the same; it just happened that the more established members knew how to see past what someone had definitely termed his "resting bitchface".

But this guy was just a bit...odd. Maybe it was just because he was definitely not one of the usuals - young spitfires full of piss and vinegar, ready to take on the wild and discover exactly how not to descend a mountain slope in winter. But then he wasn't like one of the other types, either. Their youth tended to be confined to their hearts and minds, their limits known and their bodies - and dirty songs - hardy. Sosin - for all its name, _whisper_ , which Luta defiled pretty much every day on waking anyway - was not the tribe for those who wanted to enjoy the peace of the Arctic circle. Haakon seemed like that type - calm, too serious for his own good, looking to _find himself_. And it was weird, stood out. But the tribe's reputation preceded it; nobody asked for Arved's name if they didn't know what life they would live with him. Haakon presumably knew what he was in for.

Maybe he should tell him to buy earplugs.


	2. Searching

Arved had to admit, the red-haired wonder wasn't settling in horribly. Sure, he seemed to have a penchant for setting off in clothing just as inadequate as when they'd met, forcing Arved on one memorable occasion to drop a fur coat onto his head from the broken tower and on another set Luta on him; he also seemed to be technologically inept to a startling degree, taking to the satphone the same way a nonagenarian took to facebook and having to have its operation painstakingly explained by Sofie in case of emergency. But he joined in campfire talk well enough after a while, had a surprising repertoire of sailor-standard songs and was a good mapper, covering terrain in painstaking detail on each of his expeditions. It had transpired that he'd apparently been multitasking this with the search he'd originally admitted to, and of course Arved had taken to welcoming him back with a chipper "found yourself yet?", to which the answer was invariably "no".

And Arved wanted to be amused. Really, he did - and he sort of was. But something niggled, over the course of the weeks and months, as autumn gave up its grip on the land and bowed to winter blustering the tundra colours white. The day it clicked it was particularly cold, with a wind chill sharp enough to freeze a caribou's nuts off. Nobody wanted to go out: there were stores aplenty and stone walls to huddle behind at the castle, and it was a perfectly valid reaction to the weather to snuggle down in a pile of tokotas and spend your time planning the next few days or playing cards.

But nope, not Mr Norway. His always-quiet arrival was signalled this time by Ivarr launching himself over to Arved's tokopile, huddling up as close to _under_ Luta as he could get. Arved swore when the grey tokota's freezing cold nose accidentally brushed the hand that was holding his book, and looked up. Haakon was just walking past, frowning over the details of the map he had made that day.

"Found yourself yet?"

Haakon didn't even look up. "No."

And that was always the answer. Arved didn't even have a count of the number of times it had been given. But this time-

"Bullshit," he heard himself declare.

This time Haakon looked over, frowning in confusion.

"That's not how it goes," Arved continued, and gestured sharply to a spot on the rug next to him. Haakon paused, then obediently sat.

"How what goes?"

"'Finding yourself'," said Arved, air quotes in full force. "I've met people doing that. They wander aimlessly on clear, bright days, romanticise the lack of a flushing toilet, then come back and tell me that they think they've _uncovered the wild spirit_ inside themselves, or something equally obtuse. If I asked them every day if they'd found themselves yet, they'd give me something about their soul reaching tentatively out in the arctic space. Not just 'no'. They don't go out in blizzards; they don't try to execute an obsessive, detailed search pattern over what I can only assume will be _literally the entire fifty thousand square miles of our territory_." Haakon flushed, glancing compulsively down at his map of the day before directing his gaze away from Arved's. But Arved wasn't done; it felt like all the pieces were coming together as he talked, like he'd had them already, but not known where to put them until they came out of his mouth. "You're not _searching for yourself_ ," he said triumphantly, crossing his arms. "You are literally looking for something. Something physical."

Silence descended. Haakon hadn't moved, ostensibly, though his jaw was tight, his knuckles white where he gripped his map. His gaze bored through it, unseeing and shadowed. "Yes," he said eventually. But before Arved could tell him to continue, he looked him straight in the face. Arved flinched. It was as angry as he'd ever seen the Norwegian, features distorted in a closed-mouth snarl, eyes narrowed. For a moment he began to regret his question, but eventually Haakon dropped his gaze resentfully to the side.

"I'm a selkie." He sighed. "And I'm looking for my skin."

" _Ohhhh_." Arved relaxed hugely. He'd begun to imagine buried bodies, based on the strength of that glare. He paused, wrinkled his nose in a frown. "Why _here_?"

The resulting change in facial expression happened so quickly that he wasn't sure how Haakon didn't get whiplash of the eyebrows. The Norwegian gaped openly at him for several seconds. "You believe me?" he managed eventually. "You believe selkies are real?"

Arved scoffed. "I don't need to believe you, I've met a bunch. But they're all from around here. Yakuts. Other, I don't know, native Siberians. Or they were Inuit in Alaska and Canada when I visited. You know." He gestured vaguely. "Lots of seals and people in boats. Norway doesn't exactly sound the type."

"There are seals in Norway! And boats. And fairytales." Haakon looked almost comically offended.

"Well, yes, but - anyway - why would your skin be _here_?"

Haakon grimaced guiltily. "An angry woman."

"Ohh, wow, say no more. That selkie thing, huh." Arved raised his eyebrows sympathetically. "Well, no skin off my nose; you're a good mapper," he said. "You didn't have to lie when you joined: I wouldn't care if you were half starfish if you pulled your - human - weight."

"I didn't lie." Now the blasted man's face was something approaching sly, of all things. Arved narrowed his eyes.

"You said you were searching for yourself."

"No, you asked that." Now he was smirking, dammit. "I just said something _like_ that. And it's pretty important, so, close enough."

Arved blinked at him for a moment, before reaching over and shoving the taller man in the shoulder. He shook his head. "Fucking fairy-logic." But it was without rancour or much force, and Haakon's smile was tentative as he looked sideways at him.

"So you don't mind?"

"Mind? Why would I - hey, is this why you always dress stupidly? Because you're always sort of a seal and don't feel the cold?"

Haakon nodded. "Essentially," he said. "Clothing doesn't really make a difference."

"Well I'm not wasting time making sure you're bundled up any more then, that's for sure." Arved threw a mock-disdainful glance at Haakon before settling back against Luta's side and raising his book. Haakon was relaxing too, throwing him an answering grin as he spread his maps out over his crossed legs. "You can go out naked, for all I care."


	3. Regional Diets

"Right guys, it's that time of year again!" Arved announced from his only slightly precarious position on top of a pile of castle rubble. Below him, the upturned faces of the tribe were mostly eager - with the odd confused face of a newbie dotted here and there. "Winter seal hunting!" he continued, and comprehension dawned over the gathering. "Any of you not done it before - and summer doesn't count, no - buddy up with a pro. You've all got an hour to prepare before we leave, so get to it!"

Arved hopped down from his podium, and nearly lost his footing as he landed face to face - or face to clavicle - with Haakon. It hadn't been long since the Norwegian had revealed the truth about himself, and instantly it came flashing back.

 _Shit_. Haakon was - sort of - a seal. And they were going on a seal hunt.

Arved wasn't exactly known for his sensitivity.

"Crap, Haakon, I'm sorry," he said, grimacing apologetically. "You can stay behind if you want; I just...it's not something that's ever come up before."

Haakon frowned. "What?"

Oh god, did he have to make this more difficult than it already was. "The - the _you-know-what_ hunting," Arved ground out. "Considering you're a - what you are - you might find it, I don't know, _really unpleasant_?"

"That? No, no, it's fine." Haakon waved a dismissive hand. "I just wanted to ask you - I don't know how humans hunt seals, really, so - could I, er, buddy with you?"

Arved was never going to get the hang of this guy.

***

"So...why doesn't it bother you?" Arved bit off a piece of blubber and chewed thoughtfully. Beside him on the snow-covered rock, Haakon was doing the same. A little way in front of them, Luta and Ivarr tucked into their portion of one of the carcasses, fur shake-dried and limbs happily tired. Many of the others would have gone home already - it was hard to tell when you were spread out along the jagged coastline and concentrating on your own tasks. But Haakon was of course inexhaustible and unperturbed by the cold water, and they had only stopped when they wouldn't have been able to carry any more home. "Hunting seals, eating seals," he continued, trailing off. "No sense of kinship or anything?"

To his surprise, Haakon chuckled, and bit off another piece of blubber with teeth that suddenly looked much sharper than they should. "Well, think about it," he said. "What kind of seal eats other seals?"

"That's my point," Arved said hotly. "I wasn't under the impression - after living around them for a good while, mind you - that they did."

"Around here, maybe."

"Oh, stop being so damn cryptic!" Arved pretended to throw his blubber at him. Haakon ducked, grinning. "Do they have cannibal seals in Norway?"

Haakon outright laughed at that. "No," he said. But seeing Arved's impatience, he relented and became serious. "I'm a leopard seal."

"That..." Arved narrowed his eyes in thought, and shushed Haakon when he opened his mouth to help. "I know that...that's... That's in the _Ant_ arctic," he finished, frowning in confusion. "Was one of your parents a leopard seal or something?"

"Ah, no," said Haakon, suddenly awkward. "I mean - it's true that if you're born a selkie, then your parents determine what kind you are. But I wasn't born a selkie. I was off the coast of Antarctica when I, er." He paused, sighed. "When I drowned."

Arved stared, a horrible cold feeling spreading across his chest. It felt a little, he imagined, like breathing in polar seawater.

"I-"

But what did you even say to that? I'm sorry you died and now live a half-human, half-seal life? He hadn't exactly prepared a speech. Haakon spared him the trouble by raising a quelling hand.

"Don't," he said. "I know, just, don't worry. It's okay."

"It's not okay-"

"Really, I'm okay with it." Haakon watched Arved carefully, hand still raised, to make sure he wasn't going to jump back onto the subject. "Finding my skin is my priority now."

They ate in silence for a little longer, Arved trying not to think of what drowning felt like. Not that he'd never fallen in water, but actually breathing in the freezing seawater so that it crashed down into your lungs like searing lead-

"Do you miss it?" he blurted, focusing forcefully on Haakon. "Your skin, I mean."

Haakon nodded. "It's part of me. But this one tides me over for now." He gestured to the fur cloak tied around his neck, and with a jolt, Arved realised the damn thing was a sealskin.

"Wait, you can use a different skin?"

"Sort of." Haakon shrugged. "It's nothing like my own. A selkie can stay in their own skin indefinitely. This - it itches and pulls after a while, but I can use it for short periods. A few hours is no problem, but I could probably stretch to...ah, a week if I really had to. Mostly it eases the feeling of being in human form too long."

"Huh." Arved looked at the ratty skin with new interest. But then a thought struck him. "Hang on, that means you've - shifted or whatever - into seal form while you've been in Sosin?"

Haakon grinned. "Why do you think Ivarr and I are so good at fishing?"

Arved lowered his snack in mock-outrage. "You little shit!" He shoved the other man with his shoulder. "I'm taking you off the leaderboard," he grumbled. "That's cheating." He elbowed the snickering Norwegian for good measure before turning back to his blubber and taking a savage bite. "C'n I see, tho?"

"See what?"

Arved swallowed and grinned. "See your seal form."

Haakon raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd met selkies," he said.

"Yeah, but mostly, you know, just acquaintances." Arved gestured vaguely, then tried a winning smile. "And no leopard seals."

Haakon grunted. "I won't look entirely like one," he warned. "This skin is wrong. Plus I'll have to take my clothes off."

"Human underwear doesn't fit on a seal, huh?" Arved smirked briefly at the image in his mind. "I don't care, I'll look the other way."

Haakon threw up his hands in defeat and got up, shedding boots and trousers as he went. Arved winced to see bare feet sink into soft snow, but it didn't seem to cause any reaction. Next off was that ridiculous thermal top, and the Norwegian stood almost naked but for the sealskin in his hands and, well, a pair of boxers. Pale like an albino except for long flame-coloured hair and a scattering of freckles across his shoulders, he wasn't exactly your average naked man in the north. Arved was impressed; he would have expected a funny shade of blue by now.

Haakon cleared his throat. Arved turned hastily around on the rock.

"Looking away, looking away, lovely snowy tundra over here, it's all...snowy. Lots of snow. Particularly large mound of snow over there."

" _Fine_."

Arved turned back to see Haakon lying on his back - boxers discarded to the side - with the sealskin gathered around him. It looked a bit like a sleeping bag.

"You don't look like a seal."

" _Jøss_ ," Haakon muttered. "I need to be lying down first. You try shifting into seal-form standing up."

The image of a seal appearing from nowhere, standing on its tail before flopping to the ground like a sack of potatoes, was too much. Arved snorted violently before dissolving into laughter, rocking back where he sat and almost missing the moment when Haakon rolled over onto his stomach and-

Suddenly in his place was a monster, with fathomless black eyes and a gaping maw full of sharp teeth. Arved screamed and fell backwards off the rock.

But there was no noise of the beast pursuing him. He held his breath.

" _Faen i helvete_ ," he heard instead, an irritable mutter in a familiar but somehow distorted voice. Then louder: "It's me, you idiot."

Arved righted himself in a rough, snowy scramble, and poked head and shoulders above the rock. Further away, Ivarr was unconcernedly munching at the seal carcass still. Luta had one ear on him, but she was looking at what lay between her and Arved.

The seal was huge. Not walrus-huge, but they sort of looked like your hairy uncle with chopsticks under his lip. This was a lean, sleek predator about ten feet long and solid with muscle - and still with vicious-looking teeth. But it was looking at him with a familiar exasperated expression.

"See?" it said.

"Wow, yeah." Arved hopped back up to sit on the rock. "You can speak like that?"

The seal shrugged. It wasn't a magnificent motion. "I taught myself. It's not perfect; seal vocal cords were never meant for human speech."

"Yeah. I guess-" Arved gestured to his mouth "-lips aren't exactly your strong point."

"Just enough to cover my teeth," said Haakon, and did so. Arved relaxed a little, then a bit more, then got up. He walked over to the seal. He walked around the seal, and looked at it from different angles. Haakon bore this with an air of resignation, but then Arved plopped himself down in the snow level with Haakon's head.

"You're terrifying," he said with a grin. "That's so cool."

"Thanks," said Haakon, sounding decidedly dubious, then glanced down at where Arved was making small, abortive gestures with his hands.

"Can I - like-"

"You want to stroke my fur," Haakon surmised flatly.

" _Please_."

"It feels like a seal, you know."

"Yeah - but - selkie-"

" _Fine_."

Arven immediately scooted an inch closer and, after only a moment's hesitation, brought his hand gently down on the fur over Haakon's shoulders. It was cool and smooth, and, he supposed, a lot like a seal. He moved his hand, smoothing it down the spine before bringing it up to the seal's neck and repeating the motion. Haakon sighed, the muscles moving subtly under the layer of blubber Arved knew was there.

"You feel more alive than most seal fur I've dealt with," he admitted. The seal let out a bark of what he assumed was laughter. "But seriously," he said, glancing back down along the long body, "you're _huge_."

"I am large for a male leopard seal, yes." It was as smug as he'd ever heard a seal sound. Arved tilted his head, still studying it.

"What does it feel like?"

Haakon laid his head on the snow and sighed again. Arved used the opportunity to stroke from the fine, tapered crown of his head down to his shoulders. "Comfy," said the seal.

Arved was unimpressed. "Seriously. You're in the body of an Antarctic apex predator and all you have to say for yourself is that it's _comfy_."

Haakon grinned. It was magnitudes more unnerving in seal form. "There's lots of padding," he said.

Arved wrinkled his nose. "But you're scrawny as a hare's leg as a human."

"Human forms don't always exactly correlate with seal forms," said Haakon. "The seal form's more accurate. Can you scratch my nose?"

Arved obliged. "So that's why you don't mind the cold," he said amusedly. "You secretly have two inches of blubber all over you."

The seal rumbled contentedly. "And the fur. Don't forget the fur."

Arved scritched Haakon's brow, which seemed to go down well. "But you said it got uncomfortable eventually?"

"Mmm. Look at my flippers." Haakon raised one rather laboriously and planted it down again. Arved moved for a better look and indeed, the skin at its base was stretched and wrinkled in a way that didn't look right. "Reduces my mobility," Haakon went on. "Same with my tail. Now-" he grunted and shuffled his way over onto his side, leaving his belly pointed at Arved.

Arved made a distressed noise. All along the otherwise featureless pale belly, roughly down the centre line, were what looked like long, open wounds, almost as if someone had roughly run a knife down from the base of the seal's throat. But they weren't bleeding; they merely seemed like raw flesh. He put out a hand to touch next to one of them, and looked up into Haakon's face. "Is this all because the skin's too small?" he guessed.

"Exactly." The seal shifted a bit, and Arved quickly withdrew his hand before half a tonne of flesh and blubber crashed back down on the snow. "They don't really hurt, rather ache and itch," said Haakon. "But being a human for too long aches too. It's a bit like trying to limp on both legs; you just have to alternate."

Arved made a vague noise of sympathy, and went back to stroking the smooth seal fur. It felt so odd to be in such gentle contact with what he otherwise considered a prey animal - and what he would currently consider a predator - that it almost drew his hand to test it. Haakon at least didn't seem to mind, watching their tokotas eating with his head resting on the ground. For a while they remained like that, companionable silence reigning. Eventually Arved glanced down. "I'm still taking you off the fishing leaderboard."


	4. Consequences

_Dark._

_Cold._

_Burning._

It was his throat that was burning, ever since the surface when he'd gasped in shock and inhaled some saltwater just before he fell through. He wanted to cough, retch, get the damn stuff out of his lungs but he couldn't because he was currently far too busy drowning.

It wasn't that Arved had never come to grief on thin ice. He'd dealt with the sudden shock of the cold, knew how not to let all his precious air out with the fright of it. He knew how heavy clothes were, and he knew how quickly hypothermia could set in. He knew to follow the light for the surface, rather than to swim in whatever random direction you'd tumbled into.

But he didn't know how to scrape through metre-thick ice from below as a vicious current dragged him away from the hole he had fallen into.

He couldn't even be angry at Luta, though it was she who had reared back triumphantly from her own fishing hole, bumping Arved into Ivarr's. He'd only had time to take a breath of air and water before he was under, but it was an accident. An accident, and now he was going to die.

His life didn't flash before his eyes; he was too busy swimming for all he was worth against the current. Conserving heat didn't matter if he couldn't _breathe_. Was he making headway? He had no idea; it was all but pitch-black under snowbound ice. Ropes. They were going to rope themselves to the ice from now on if he got out of this. Like goddamn climbers. Maybe he'd fit Luta with parking sensors. He could-

Suddenly, a huge shape plunged out of the inky blackness, teeth bared. Arved cried out, losing air before he stopped himself and flung out his hands, kicking with his feet in desperation. One foot connected but the creature dodged sinuously - and then its head was in his face, teeth bared.

A seal.

A leopard seal.

Haakon.

In a split-second Arved had reached out and wrapped his arms around the seal's thick neck, clinging on as Haakon turned and swam back against the current, powerful motions of his tail barrelling them through the water. But Arved's fingers were becoming heavy and numb, and though he held on with all his might, it only took a moment from when they slipped for him to lose his grip completely and be forced back by the water. But, moving faster than he thought possible, Haakon whirled, jaws open impossibly wide - and pain was exploding in his shoulder but he kept what breath he had left as he was pulled along, up, up-

And into air. Arved gasped, coughed, retched, shook as he desperately expelled the water from his lungs. He became aware, slowly, of a huge grey shape next to him, and a bloodied muzzle nuzzling at his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Arved squinted against the light and saw a dripping wet seal's face, a dark, anxious eye. Laughter bubbled up within him, but turned into coughing. "I've felt better," he admitted hoarsely. "But thank you. _Kurat_." He dropped his head back down to the snow, breathing slowly easing. But the muzzle nudged at him again.

"You're soaking," Haakon rumbled, and turned to mouth at his coat fastenings. "You need to take these off. We have blankets in our packs, so-"

_BANG._

Haakon cut off with a bark of pain and wrenched away, leaving cold air to rush in where he had been. Arved struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. Assembling in front of him were a good number of the tribe, weapons at the ready. Remy had a rifle that he was ejecting a spent cartridge from; another several had knives. Jurgen had a saucepan.

Arved blinked up at them. Remy raised his rifle again. Arved heard a growl from behind him, and strained to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the leopard seal was still there, but now dark blood was dripping from a wound that - luckily - only seemed to have nicked its back. Haakon's gaze was locked onto Remy, and if Arved thought he'd seen anger on the Norwegian's human face, it was nothing compared to when he was a seal. His muzzle was wrinkled in a snarl that showed every last one of his utterly horrible teeth, and he was honest-to-god growling.

It wasn't going to help at all.

"Wipe that look off your face," he snapped to Haakon, who probably didn't intend to comply, but ended up looking so shocked that it essentially worked. It also gave the tribemembers pause, and he turned to them next. "What the fuck, guys? A rifle, Remy? Really?"

"It was trying to eat you!" Remy exclaimed, but Arved could hear the uncertainty now in his voice. "You fell in - we couldn't see Haakon anywhere so we ran over to help - and then that-" he pointed a finger, trembling only slightly, at the bloody seal.

"Jesus everloving- That _is_ Haakon. He's a selkie." Arved pointed a finger of his own - from his uninjured arm - and turned to address the seal. "Turn back, come on." He looked back at the rest of the tribe. "This is ridiculous," he said. "Haakon literally just saved me from drowning and you're acting like that bit in Lady and the Tramp." Someone tittered nervously at the back, but all eyes were still on Haakon - who had not moved, or changed.

Arved turned to face him properly, wincing. The seal ducked its head, avoiding his eyes, but Arved made it lift it back up again with a hand under its jaw. "C'mon," he said, more gently. "Is this a safety thing, acting like a dumb seal?" The seal made a rumbling noise and looked about as pathetic as a half-tonne predator could manage. Arved stroked the silky cheek with his thumb in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Honestly, it'd be safer right now to turn back into a human. I've told them now, anyway, so there's nothing to hide. Please?"

With just a moment more of hesitation the seal curled in on itself, tucking its flippers in towards its belly, then stretched out again - only it was Haakon the human uncurling, pushing a sealskin cloak back from his body. Arved clapped a hand over his eyes.

"I forgot you were naked under there."

The gasps from their audience were probably more to do with the transformation, he hoped, and he let himself flop backwards to the snow as Remy lowered his gun. At least the danger of _literally being shot_ had passed.

"And the blood?"

Arved shot to sitting at the new voice. " _Vanaisa_?" he croaked. Oh god, no, anything but-

Ülo Kassin strode through the group like old man winter himself, and they parted respectfully before him. They didn't see him often, but if they had seen him once it was enough. He stood in front of Arved and Haakon, eyes narrowed and moustache echoing the downward turn of his mouth. Arved became suddenly and painfully aware of how bedraggled they both looked.

" _Vaar_ , please," he started, but his grandfather silenced him with a gesture.

"The blood," he repeated.

"It's not mi- Well, okay, it is mine," Arved blurted. "But _vaar_ , really, it's from this-" he gestured to his shoulder. "He had to grab me to get me out when I couldn't hold on any more - _say something, dammit, Haakon!_ "

"What do you want me to say? It's true!" Haakon snapped back, breaking his silence. But it seemed that such a familiar response was worth ten excuses, and the rest of the tribe relaxed properly. Arved's grandfather nodded, and turned his gaze to Haakon.

"You're clearly dangerous," he said flatly.

Haakon glared back. "So's he," he said, nodding towards Remy. "And Jurgen I'm sure could get quite a swing in with that saucepan." The man in question quietly hid his implement behind him, but Haakon was concentrating on Ülo. "What do you expect me to do?" he snapped. "There are strong currents down there, and the ice is thick. I'd've harpooned your grandson if there was nothing better."

Arved winced, but his grandfather nodded, and he looked up at him in disbelief. "Good," his grandfather said. "I think I will assign Yamal to you."

" _Va-ar_ ," Arved groaned. Haakon looked over at him.

"Who's Yamal?" Just then he turned, catching the scent of tokota. He looked up. And up.

Yamal bent his maneless neck to sniff at Haakon's head, before sitting heavily behind them.

"I felt that," Haakon murmured.

"He's a dire, he weighs twice as much as seal-you," Arved hissed back. Haakon, incredibly, paled, but gamely turned back to face front.

"Is he to _handle_ me, should I prove dangerous?" he spat.

"Partly, I admit," said Ülo. "But also to help should you be incapacitated in your...rather larger form." Somehow his small gesture clearly indicated the seal that had lain in Haakon's place until recently. The Norwegian himself glared for a bit longer before nodding.

"Fine."

Arved's grandfather turned to look at him again. "You'll need stitches. Report to the medical room when you return, Arved." And with that, he remounted his own tokota and left.

"Urgh." Arved collapsed backwards again, hand over his eyes.

"Do you want help?" he heard Remy say.

"No, we'll be fine," he growled. "Piss off back to camp before I knock all your heads together. I'll talk to you this evening." The sound of boots indicated that his orders were being followed, but they weren't loud enough to mask Remy's murmured apology to Haakon. When he didn't hear a response, he snorted to himself, entirely managing to imagine the look on the Norwegian's face. But his mirth was short-lived: his shoulder was aching and throbbing now, shivers running through his body. His throat burned.

"C'mon, up." Haakon's voice came from very close by a little while later. Arved grunted and let himself be dragged upright, then propped against Yamal's enormous side. "I won't look," Haakon added, already walking away.

Arved could see a trail of clothes leading to the ice hole; Haakon must have shed them while running towards where he had gone in, and now he was able to pick them up and put them back on in order. But when the Norwegian straightened up from pulling his underwear on, Arved winced to see the dark red score on his waist.

"Damn," he rasped, calling over as best he could as he began stripping his heavy, sodden coat off. "I'm glad Remy can't aim for shit in an emergency, but that looks painful."

Haakon glanced back with a lopsided smile. "I've had worse," he said. "I'll dress it after yours."

The trousers went the same way as the coat, and Arved looked up from debating pulling his boots off to find a blanket had been draped over Yamal's back, the dire bearing it as proudly as any clothes horse. Arved took it gladly and bundled himself up.

"Hmm. C'n y' lie down?" he asked. Yamal obediently flopped down into the snow, and Arved gingerly clambered into his back, scooting up to his shoulders and facing his tail. Now elevated above the snow, he kicked his boots off and sighed in relief, feeling about ten times warmer than he had with wet furs on.

A short peal of laughter cut into his relaxation. He looked over to see Haakon, second blanket, medical kit and thermos in hand, walking over with a tired grin.

"And you complain that I don't act like a majestic predator enough," he chuckled. He threw the blanket over Arved, who added it to his cocoon, and gingerly touched Yamal's short-furred side. Nothing happened. "Is he...okay with this?"

"Ugh, Yamal's a big softie," Arved muttered. Haakon climbed carefully up to sit opposite him. " _Vaar_ probably wanted to give you him anyway, god knows why he'd be out here with him otherwise, unless he was actually hunting for himself."

Haakon had paused. "Wanted to anyway? To guard against me, or protect me?"

Arved shrugged. "Bit o' both, you heard him. Though to be honest I suspect more of the latter. He likes people to think he disapproves of them more than he does. Oh god you're an angel," he added rapturously, accepting the thermos of steaming soup handed to him and opening it eagerly.

"Hmm." Haakon opened the medical kit, balancing it on Yamal's back. He took out a sterilising wipe. "This'll burn like a bitch, I'm sure you know. So what exactly am I taking on in Yamal?"

Arved appreciated the distraction, though he winced anyway as the wound sizzled with fresh pain. "A giant teddy bear," he managed. "You haven't seen him before because he hangs out in the bell tower - you know, the tallest - and acts as lookout."

Haakon glanced up briefly from his work. "So that's the unholy howling I've heard before spontaneous hunts."

Arved managed a laugh. "Yeah. But he's good on hunts - fish and seals especially. Pretty much jumps on them. _Vaar_ named him after an icebreaker he once saw - it had teeth painted on it."

Haakon chuckled. "Just hope he doesn't jump on me."

"He'll learn." Arved smiled. "Thanks, by the way. You know. For like. Saving my life."

"Didn't have a harpoon to hand," Haakon muttered, now taping down the dressing.

"Seriously though."

Haakon patted the last bit of tape down and sat back. He shrugged, looking Arved in the eye. "Why wouldn't I?"

Arved quirked a smile, and took another gulp of soup before tightening the cap. "Come on then, turn around. I'll do your back."


	5. And the Rest

Arved took a big gulp of hot chocolate, and leaned back with a contented sigh as the warmth flowed into him. Haakon reclined next to him, both of them supported by Yamal's enormous grey bulk as the huge tokota dozed comfortably in the bell tower. Above them the roof was silhouetted against the great swathe of starlight stretching from horizon to horizon, and below the sounds of celebration still filtered up to them.

It had been a good hunt. But Haakon had retired early, and when Arved had found him up in the bell tower he had been perusing his maps again, comparing them to the wider and less detailed map of the full territory. No rest for the skin hunter, apparently. Still, he'd accepted Arved's company and a mug of hot chocolate happily enough, so Arved didn't figure he'd intruded.

"Still no luck, huh?"

Haakon shrugged. "I'm used to it." He folded the maps away, having apparently reached a decision, and took a sip of his hot chocolate. "I'll start the next section tomorrow."

Arved nodded absently. The silence stretched, natural and wide as the Arctic. "You never really answered my question, you know," he said after a while. "When I asked why your skin would be here, of all places." He took another sip. "Was the woman a Yakut?"

Haakon shook his head. "That's just it," he said. "I never thought it _was_ here. It's just...I've looked everywhere else."

Arved laughed. "Everywhere?"

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere as in...?"

" _Everywhere_." Haakon's tone forestalled further teasing and Arved's smile faded. The selkie had told him some weird stuff before, but surely he was missing something this time. He channelled all the credulousness he could manage.

"Humour me here," he said warily. "Are we talking...everywhere in Siberia? Russia? Everywhere in...north Asia? The whole of Asia?"

"The world."

Arved swallowed, wishing his hot chocolate was something stronger. "Damn, that's a powerful moisturiser you've got."

Haakon blinked up at him, confusion replacing some of the pain in his face. It was better, but not by much.

"Either that or you can't have done a very thorough job. Because I'm seeing a guy in his, what, late thirties?" Arved hated the way his voice shook, though he tried to make it sound like a laugh.

Haakon's face fell again. He seemed to try a smile, but it failed long before it reached his eyes. "That's how old I was when I drowned," he murmured.

The mug clinked against Arved's teeth as he hurriedly took a swallow to stop himself yelling something. Then another, and another. Then he breathed for a bit. The whole time, Haakon stared at the floor, posture resigned, and only hung his head when Arved turned to him. "How old are you?"

Haakon was silent for a while, hands making a few futile gestures before he seemed to come to a conclusion - or give up, Arved didn't know. "The ship I served on..." He visibly clenched his jaw. "The ship was made of wood," he said simply.

"Shit." Arved slumped back against Yamal. Anything before the turn of the 20th century, then. Even at the youngest he could be, Haakon was more than double his allotted three score and ten, and likely more. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Norwegian bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. It was a ridiculous posture in a man so tall. Arved took a breath.

"Well I didn't think drowning was the popular way to go in the Antarctic these days," he said decisively. "Freezing to death sounds like the number one now."

Haakon didn't uncurl, but his expression cleared a little and he looked over. "Pack ice would do it for you, back then," he said, a trace of humour and relief somehow making its way into his voice. He raised finger and thumb and made a pinching motion, accompanied by a _crunch_ noise.

Arved made a face. Then he sighed, dropping his gaze before looking back up at Haakon. "I'm sorry," he said.

"That we hadn't yet clad our ships in iron?" Haakon would have sounded amused if his eyes hadn't betrayed him.

"That you had to go through - _that_ ," Arved said hotly, anger at the general universe straightening his spine. "That you've...spent so long searching."

Fondness now spread among the pain in Haakon's eyes. "I haven't spent my whole life searching," he said, uncurling a little and leaning back against Yamal. "I spent a long while in the Antarctic Ocean learning the ropes - but there's only so much...selkying you can do on an uninhabited continent."

"The seducing impressionable maidens thing, huh?" Arved quirked a smile. "What did you do to this woman, anyway? To offend her so badly that she might have gone so far as to hide your skin in inner Siberia?"

At that, Haakon flushed so darkly he almost blended with his hair in the darkness, and didn't say anything for a long minute. Arved took another sip of his drink while he waited. "I seduced her husband," Haakon muttered.

Arved spat out his drink, choked briefly, then howled with laughter until tears sprang to his eyes. Behind them, Yamal awoke at the noise with an annoyed grunt. Haakon, who had fallen to the side in shock, soothed him back to placidity before turning to Arved, uncertain frown in place. But Arved was calming down, flapping a hand at his face as chuckles came back to him intermittently. "So you - ahahahah - you - how do you manage it," he said, shaking his head fondly at Haakon. "You're an immortal gay leopard seal selkie. Isn't that a bit much for one person to be at once?"

Arved thought Haakon's eyebrows might escape into his hair if he didn't wipe the look of shock off his face soon, but eventually the Norwegian shook his head with a hoarse chuckle and shoved him hard in the shoulder, before scrambling inelegantly back into position against Yamal's side.

" _Kødd_ ," he said, but it was with a smile. "I'm not immortal though; I'm...a comfortable age for a selkie, thank you very much. We only age visibly in seal form, not that you'd be able to tell."

Arved grinned. " _That_ 's the bit you're contesting."

"Yes."

"Where was this couple from, anyway? I want to know how much trouble she went to." Arved picked up his mug again and settled for looking scholarly over the brim.

Haakon rolled his eyes. "Uh...Angola," he said. At Arved's blank look, he clarified. "West southern Africa."

Arved whistled low. " _Kurat_. You must've done a really good job."

Haakon, cheeks pink, gestured dismissively. "I still don't know if it _is_ here."

Arved grunted. "I've seen your work; you're the most obsessively thorough mapper I've ever had. You'll find it."

Haakon hesitantly smiled his thanks at that, and they lapsed into a silence broken only by the occasional snore from Yamal. Eventually Arved piped up again.

"So uh...when you _do_ get your skin back. Does that mean you can't come back for like, seven years - or whatever it is?"

Haakon looked over, narrowing his eyes. Then he grinned. "Hah! I'm telling Sofie," he said, mischievous glee suddenly bubbling up in his words. "She's been trying to find out who racked up the huge charge on the satphone looking at, what was it, wotsit-pedia?"

It was Arved's turn to flush. "Guilty as charged," he said, raising his hands and trying not to spill his drink. Haakon only grinned wider.

"What did you look up?"

"Uh." Arved put his mug down to check the pages off on his fingers. "Leopard seals. Uh. Norway, the history of antarctic expeditions - though I didn't exactly think to look back that far - and, yeah, selkies." He raised his chin stubbornly. "So, does it?"

Haakon, who was snickering, glanced over. "The seven-year thing? Nah, I'm rather enjoying the company for once."

Arved frowned. Good news, but- "I thought it was selkie law?"

Haakon looked at him properly then. "'Law' is probably the more accurate word - in that it's not a magical curse that goes with the profession or anything," he said, ignoring Arved's resulting snort. "It's enforced by selkie communities to make sure we stay...relatively unknown. Hunting and all that, you know."

"And what, you're somehow exempt?"

Haakon grinned with - yes, definitely a flash of his seal-teeth. Arved shivered slightly. "No, but this is the middle of nowhere. And they're unlikely to argue with a leopard seal up here."

Arved laughed, and shook his head as they both relaxed back against their warm furry pillow. "Well you'd better come back," he grumbled. "Maps'll need finishing, after all."


End file.
